The Dead Walk The Earth (Book 4) (27 page)

Al’s ears were ringing, the sudden and unexpected crack of the rifle-blast making his mind spin for a moment as the noise bounced through the narrow tunnel. He spun around when he heard Greg cry out, and he ran through the darkness. Close by, he could hear the heavy splashes as someone fought and struggled in the water. There was another bang, less violent than the first and much duller in sound, but unmistakable as a rifle blast. Greg’s weapon was submerged for the second shot, and Al instinctively knew that it would not fire a third time as the resistance of the water prevented the bolt from chambering another round correctly and undoubtedly having caused a stoppage.

“Al,” Greg screamed, coughing and sputtering as he slipped beneath the water while struggling to get away from his unseen attackers.

Stealth had been completely lost now. Al flicked on his light and immediately saw the broiling water where a cluster of figures grabbed and pulled at Greg. The man was beneath them and fighting a losing battle as he flailed around struggling for position and screaming for help. The dead had the advantage of numbers, attacking from above as they overwhelmed the partially man.

Al fired, his round missing its target, and ricocheting with a high-pitched ping from the wall as it whizzed away through the tunnel. He pulled the trigger again, the flash of the round blinding him for a fraction of a second. The head of one of the nearest infected exploded outwards in a mist of bone and brain tissue. The body fell, landing on top of Greg and pushing him back under the water.

He resurfaced a moment later, howling with pain as another corpse dropped onto him with its teeth chomping down on his upper arm. He felt the skin split and the teeth embed themselves into the bone, sending a convulsion of agony through his body. The corpse’s head began to thrash from side to side like a shark in a feeding frenzy while tearing away the flesh from the screaming man. With his free hand Greg punched at the unseen face again and again, feeling the tissue around his knuckles split against the hard bone and jagged teeth.

The infected body was snarling, its jaws locked as it pulled and tore at the muscle tissue and tendons in Greg’s arm until it suddenly flew backwards, a chunk of warm and blood-soaked meat coming away from the bone and remaining clamped between its teeth. Greg roared, the pain sending a white-hot flash through his body and into his brain, almost paralysing him as more teeth clamped down over his exposed limbs. For a moment he lost his senses, unable to think of anything else but the agony he felt from the bites.

Al charged forward, blasting off another three rounds as he closed in on the group of infected that were savaging his friend. Another of them dropped into the filthy water, and he kicked another out of the way. He reached down, groping blindly for Greg as the infected snatched and grasped at him. Through the melee and confusion, his fingers made contact with the relatively warm skin of a living human arm. Al wrenched him back, pulling Greg away through the throng of bodies and dragging him through the water from the swarm of clambering hands and gnashing teeth.

“Move,” he yelled down to the man. “You need to move.”

Greg was kicking his way along, unable to get up, and still screaming at the top of his lungs. His howls sounded like a mixture of pain, anger, and insanity, and were almost as unnerving as the growing wails of the infected.

Greg’s rifle was gone, but Al doubted it would have been much use to the man now anyway. He was in shock and pain, holding onto a bite wound on his shoulder, and needing to be virtually carried to safety. Al hauled him to his feet and took off in the opposite direction from where they had been headed. The tunnel behind them was filled with the excited moans of the dead now, and the group that had attacked Greg was giving chase, sloshing through the water and crashing over the piles of debris.

Al stumbled forward, propping his friend up with one arm and dragging him along through the knee deep water while trying to see where they were going from the small beam of light emitting from the barrel of his rifle. His mind raced as he searched for the turning in the tunnel, aware that if he missed the fork, they would never make it out of there alive.

“Come on, mate, keep moving,” he growled over the wails of the reanimated bodies, hoping to encourage the wounded man. “We’ll get you sorted.”

Greg was groaning, whimpering, and becoming heavier. His legs were weak and unable to carry him without the aid of the larger man. The pain from the bites was sending his mind into spasms and causing his stomach to flip. He began to wretch, vomit and bile spilling from his mouth and nose.

Al could not stop to check on the wound in Greg’s shoulder, but he suspected that there was a lot of blood loss, and possibly a number of other bites along his body. He could hear their pursuers charging along behind them, and he could also tell that they were closing the distance. Greg was becoming more immobile by the second, and it would not be long before Al would need to carry him completely.

“Lift your legs,” he roared down at him. “You need to keep going.”

They were moving at little more than a stagger and barely making any progress when Al lost his grip. Greg dropped unprotestingly into the water, collapsing into a slump at his feet, and seemingly unresponsive.

“Up, get up. For fuck sake, get up.”

Al was pulling at the shoulder straps of Greg’s harness and trying to lift him to his feet, but it was no use. The man was a dead weight and either unconscious or very close to it. He knew that he needed to buy them some time, and he would never leave Greg behind, even if it meant himself dying in the process. Standing his ground, he raised his rifle so that the barrel was pointed back along the tunnel at head height. There was nothing to be seen in the beam of his light, but he could hear them clearly, approaching with their heavy legs dragging them through the murky water and wailing with their insatiable hunger.

“Come on, you rotten bags of shit,” he cried.

He began to fire blindly into the darkness, hoping to drive back the dead that were closing in on them. He had no idea where his shots were landing, but between the heavy thwacks of the suppressed rifle, he sensed that some of the dead had been hit. He swept the barrel of his rifle from left to right, firing rapid single shots, and completely losing track of how many rounds he had fired from his magazine. They had always been instructed to count their shots in training, but when it came to reality with fear and adrenaline overpowering him, it was impossible to keep track.

“Magazine,” he cried instinctively when the weapon suddenly stopped firing.

Within just a few short seconds, a full magazine had been slammed into place again, and he continued to blast away at the unseen enemy. His bullets flashed as they ricocheted from walls and iron grills. The tracer rounds burned brightly, illuminating the twisted shapes of charging corpses and exploding heads.

In the back of his mind, he became aware of movement and noise behind them. More of the infected were being drawn into the area from the adjoining tunnels and Al began to fear that they would soon be cut off from the junction.

“Ready to move, Greg,” he called down at his feet.

He was unable to tell if the man was capable of even hearing him, let alone assisting him. He squeezed the trigger again, wanting to buy them a few more seconds before they continued their retreat. Three more shots sprang from his barrel in rapid succession, a glowing red tracer being the final bullet. It zipped through the air, too high to hit any of the dead that were closing in, and smashed into the curved ceiling further along the tunnel.

There was a flash, and an intense orange glow instantly filled the sewer, swiftly drawing away the air into the epicentre of the eruption and creating a vacuum that tugged at the eyes and lungs of Al. As everything seemed to slow down, he felt his body being drawn forward, and for a millisecond, he became distinctly aware of the numerous deformed figures that were scrambling along through the passageway towards them, framed in a ball of fire that was expanding rapidly.

There was a deafening whoosh and a dull boom as the blast ripped its way along the tunnel, its fiery fingers racing along the walls and turning that section of the sewer system into a roaring furnace. The air expanded violently ahead of the fires, creating an enormous pressure wave that hurled Al from his feet and sent him crashing down into the cold water on top of Greg. He screamed against the weight of the air as the fireball pressed down and swept over them, the blistering flames rushing along the walls and incinerating everything in their path. His mind tumbled as he slipped beneath the surface, seeing the flowing flames as they majestically danced over the water above him.

A second later he sprang from the water and into almost complete darkness again. He turned in all directions expecting to continue the fight, but the place seemed oddly quiet and peaceful compared to what it had been just a moment earlier. Confused as to what had happened, he searched his surroundings, shining his light over the dozens of twitching and burned corpses that lay scattered over the walkways, or floated along through the sewer. Here and there, small flickering flames continued to eat away at the charred bodies and cast the tunnel in a faint orange glow. He sniffed, and beyond the nauseating stench of burned flesh, he could smell something else.

“A gas pocket,” he laughed to himself with relief and still gasping for breath. “We must’ve hit a gas pocket.”

He knew full well that the mains supply had long since ceased to operate, but there was undoubtedly pockets of gas still within the pipes, including natural methane from the rotting carcasses floating through the tunnels and slowly building up over time.

Seizing the opportunity that had been granted to them by fate or the Gods, Al reached down for Greg and dragged him to his feet. With a renewed strength, he wrenched the hurt man up and flung him over his shoulder. He took off along the tunnel again, searching for the turning that would lead them back to their base.

14

A series of heavy thuds boomed from all around her. Her dreams were a jumbled blend of past events and images from the dark depths of her imagination, all mixing together to create a dream state that was impossible to comprehend. She was vaguely aware that her current reality was a figment of her imagination, but her subconscious mind continued to play along.

She turned and searched the area while squinting against the strange, faint mist that was enveloping her. There was nothing to see, but she could sense others close by. The banging sounded distant, as though coming from somewhere far away and not really a part of the same world in which she was presently standing. She struggled to make sense of the noise, unable to identify its source but instinctively knowing that it posed no immediate threat to her.

The wispy veil began to slowly lift, revealing a landscape of infinite, pale horizons that stretched away into nothingness. The ground was awash with a viscous fluid that rippled lazily when she moved her feet and appeared to be the source of the curling vapour that was steadily evaporating around her.

Her mother was there, and her father too, gradually appearing from out of the fog. He had died when she was young, and it had been many years since he had visited her sleep. They were shouting, urging her to do something or warning her of danger. In her spiralling mind and the floating scenery of her dream, she could not distinguish which it was. They stood there, their faces recognisable to her, but their expressions obscured by a strange blur as they beat their fists against an invisible barrier that muffled their voices and blocked them from reaching her.

Her brother also made an appearance, his colossal body squeezed into a pair of long shorts that were far too small for him, his flabby stomach pushing against the buttons of his waistband and emerging from beneath his t-shirt like some monster from a science-fiction story. He, too, was calling her name, waving her closer as he stood holding his smoking gun in his other hand and grinning at her.

She took a step closer, curiosity getting the better of her as the voices of her parents became unmistakably clear. Their words were filled with fear and warning, pleading with her not to approach her brother. They were screaming at her to run, to get away from Christopher who was still smiling and beckoning her towards him.

She knew that he was dangerous and that she should not approach, but she could not prevent her feet from carrying her forward. He gestured for her to come closer, and as though hypnotised by his smiling face, she continued, seeing the gun in his hand and sensing the menace behind his false smile. Her subconscious cried out, but was unable to convince the rest of her mind and body that she should flee for her life.

“Hey Tina,”
his high-pitched and quivering voice greeted her.
“How have you been? I’ve missed you, you know.”

She tried to reply, but her words became lodged in her throat and would not reach beyond her lips. She wanted to tell him that she knew that he intended to hurt her and that she would not allow him to, but she became frozen to the spot, only her eyes and brain still functioning while her body remained completely immobile.

Christopher smiled again and took a swaying step closer. She could now see the blood that covered his clothing. His shirt was torn, barely covering his pale green, marbled flesh and exposed ribcage. She could see the hundreds of festering bites that he had received, and the remains of his intestines hanging from a huge, jagged wound that stretched from one side of his abdomen to the other. The sores and injuries oozed with pus and black, rancid blood, the teeth marks clearly visible around the edges of the lacerations where the infected had gnawed at his ample carcass.

“You hurt me, Tina,”
he whined, his face quickly changing to the more familiar expression of self-pity that she had been used to.
“You promised me that you would never hurt me or let the monsters get me, but you did.”

Again, she tried to speak, but the words would not come while her parents continued to call out her name and hammer against the translucent wall. She looked to them and saw the puddles of blood in which they were standing. The swathes were growing in size, as though draining from their bodies as they remained standing, screaming and crying.

“You hurt me, and now I have to hurt you,”
her brother snarled.

She looked back at him and saw his pale eyes and the holes in his bloated, mottled face. His plump cheeks had been torn away, revealing the rows of his upper and lower teeth. He was grinning at her now, his sympathy for himself dissipating fast and being replaced by his lust for cold, hard vengeance. He slowly raised the gun, taking his time as though he was acutely aware that Tina was unable to move.

The drumbeat continued from afar as her parents looked on helplessly. Their cries lost over an expanse of distance and time.

The gun raised higher, seemingly taking forever until Christopher was satisfied with his position and aim and glaring at her from behind the barrel while grinning manically. The wounds to his face began to stretch grotesquely, revealing more of the rotting flesh and tendons beneath.

Tina again tried to move, but her legs were locked in place. She tried to speak, but her throat remained sealed tight. She screamed within her mind, her fear quickly turning to rage as she could do nothing to protect herself.

“Goodbye, sis,”
her brother cackled, squeezing his finger back against the trigger.

There was a series of rapid bangs, but they were not the sound of a discharging gun. She was suddenly free from her invisible bonds and able to move again. She cried out, her words finally able to force their way from her mouth. She opened her eyes and looked around. The room was dark, but she could see well enough to realise that she was back in the FOB. She sighed and swept the sweat soaked hair away from her face.

The banging continued and distant voices were still calling out to her, but they were clearly not her parents. She was confused, and in her semi-conscious state, as her mind slowly pieced itself back together, she wondered if she was still hearing echoes from her dream.

“Tina,”
the man’s voice called again, followed by another bout of heavy thumps.
“You in there? We’ve got dramas.”

Recognising Paul’s voice, she suddenly sprang from the bed and landed on the floor with perfect balance before reaching for her weapons on the chair beside her.

“Yeah, I’m here. What is it?” she stuttered, forcing her brain into gear, and wiping away the last tendrils of her dream state.

“It’s Al. The mad bastard’s gone down into the sewers again with Greg, and I think Flash might’ve gone with them as well.”

Tina bolted from her room, her face already flushing with anger. Paul had by now stepped away from the door, knowing that his words would drive her into a seething rage. He did not fear her in a physical sense, but she had the ability to topple much bigger prey just from her presence and venomous tongue. They began to run through the corridors of the complex and towards the north eastern corner of the wall.

“Where are they now?” she growled, fastening her belt buckle and adjusting the pistol on her hip so that it was sitting in its usual position.

“Still down there, I think,” Paul replied as they began to make their way through the complex and out towards the perimeter wall. “I had no idea they had gone, but there was an explosion of some kind about thirty minutes ago, and that’s when we realised that the three of them were missing. We’ve checked everywhere for them, but there’s no sign of them. They
must
be down there.”

“An explosion?”

“Yeah, out in the built-up area, and there’s a lot of buildings on fire now. It looks like Guy Fawkes Night out there. It could only be something to do with Al and the others.” He looked at her gravely. “They could be dead for all we know.”

“If they’re not, then they’ll wish they fucking were,” she snarled under her breath as she began stomping her way up onto the wall, her feet ringing loudly against the steel staircase.

It was still dark, but even without checking her watch she knew that the morning was on its way. She could sense it in the cold, damp air.

“There,” one of the sentries called out to her when she reached the top and pointing towards the city.

She did not need to be told where the fire was. It was the only light in the area and impossible to miss. A large area appeared to be ablaze with the flames quickly spreading through the floors of buildings and across to the adjacent structures. The sky above the buildings glowed orange, with thick clouds of black smoke billowing up towards the heavens.

“What the fuck?” she gasped, staring at the inferno. She spun on her heel, her face glowing slightly orange from the distant flames. “Who’s on duty in the tunnel?”

“It was supposed to be Denise and Rich, but they said that Flash came to relieve them early,” Paul shrugged.

“That’s the only way that Al and Greg could’ve gone out. Has Flash reported in? Have you sent anyone into the tunnel to check?”

“Not yet, but the field telephone down at the hatch is on the blink. It hasn’t been working for a few days now. I thought I was best coming to tell you about it before I sent anyone to check the hatch.”

Tina nodded, biting down on her lower lip. She knew Al, and she knew Flash. The younger man was a protégé of Al’s, and she was certain that he was as loyal as any dog to him.

“Then he must’ve helped them,” she sighed.

“My thoughts exactly,” Paul agreed. “I reckon he must’ve relieved Denise and Rich and then called the others in. I’m positive that he’s either with Al and Greg or at least helping them in some way.”

“Get someone down there. They would’ve left someone behind to watch the door. Secure the entrance and be ready to move out.”

Paul nodded and sprang into action, physically grabbing a number of the guard force from around him and shouting orders into their faces before leading them down towards the tunnel’s entrance.

Tina remained on the wall, watching as the fire engulfed a large portion of the city. All kinds of thoughts were racing through her mind. She wondered if Al had started the fire deliberately or whether it was anything to do with him at all. She thought about all the infected that were wandering throughout the surrounding lands and now being attracted to the fires. She worried that the damage caused by the heat would prevent them escaping through the sewer tunnels. But most of all, though, she worried for Al and the others. She hoped that they were safe despite her anger and threats of retribution.

“Watch your arcs,” she grunted at one of the militia close by and pointed down to the dark tide of corpses that were churning below them. “Don’t start fire watching like a recruit. Keep your eyes on those fuckers.”

The man was too busy staring out at the trance inducing flames, his mouth hanging open, and his eyes glazed over. It had been a long time since there had been anything to look at other than the swarms of infected and the dreary buildings that were slowly crumbling to dust. He quickly turned his attention back to his duties and made a conscious effort to appear completely absorbed in what he was supposed to be doing.

Tina began to make her way along the wall, repeating the same order over and over as she came across more of the guard force seemingly mesmerised by the sights to the north. She was getting angrier by the minute; her orders becoming more aggressively barked as she stomped along the walkways. She was headed for the western gate, hoping that they were not suffering from the same degree of distraction and neglecting what was happening beneath them. She had horrific visions of the pillars collapsing and the hinges breaking, and not a soul noticing until it was too late.

There was a commotion from the east, on the far side of the complex and beyond her field of vision. Someone was shouting for a medic and it took just a fraction of a second for her to recognise the voice. It was Al. His cries were soon followed by other voices, calling for the same thing as the message was relayed throughout the base.

She turned for the nearest set of stairs and took off towards the tunnel’s entrance in the north eastern corner of the perimeter, her stomach knotting with dread as Al’s voice continued to call out above the others. Rounding the corner and sprinting at full speed, she saw a gaggle of men and women crouching over a body on the ground. The medics were there and already busy with their equipment as onlookers crowded round.

Al,
she thought, feeling her head begin to swim and her innards contort.
He’s been bitten. The stupid bastard’s been bitten.

She was within thirty metres of the scene when she saw him. He suddenly appeared from amongst the cluster of people, his face black and his clothing singed, but otherwise looking healthy and unharmed. She wanted to call out with relief, exalting in the fact that he was not hurt and still very much alive, but then she saw that there was still one of her men lying upon the floor, wounded and possibly dying. Her anger returned, pushing aside her feelings of joy at Al’s safe return to the base.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” she roared as she skidded to a halt.

All but the medics turned towards her. Al said nothing but stared back at her, his face a mixture of exhaustion and sadness. She looked down and saw that the casualty was Greg. He was pale and groaning with great pain. She could see numerous wounds along his arms and legs seeping with blood that was rapidly turning the gravel beneath him from a pale yellow to a deep red. The medics fought hard to stop the bleeding, wrapping the dressings tightly, and injecting him with morphine to ease his suffering.